


The Turn of the Lathe

by LadySwillmart



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Future Disasters, Garlemald’s Unique Approach to Diplomacy, Gen, Pointless Semantics, The Occasional Wark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySwillmart/pseuds/LadySwillmart
Summary: From 2018, I guess circa Patch 4.2-4.3. Certain events in 5.3 reminded me of the existence of this short story, in which Nero and Cid (in Sigmascape) try to explain to our gormless WoL what a "plenipotentiary" is while giving their limited opinions on one Asahi sas Brutus. It's very short—maybe about five minutes of your time you'll never get back, so I recommend reading it while you are also doing some unavoidable passive task, e.g., while riding public transportation, getting picked for a district court jury, suffering through an older sibling's high school band concert, or spending company time scrolling your mobile device as you sit on a workplace toilet (Remember: The boss makes a dollar while you make a dime...)
Kudos: 13





	The Turn of the Lathe

“You said he’s a _what_ , now?” said Nero as he slowed the woodturning lathe to a full stop, which put an end to that horrible squeaking, at least. Beyond its stated purpose, his project was generating a ticker-tape parade in miniature, a plume of fragrant dust and curly little shavings that Alpha absolutely had to investigate the moment Nero turned away from the bench.

“Kweh!” he observed.

“He says he’s some sort of diplomat,” said Arlen. “There was a quite fancy word he used. A _plen-ti-pot-ten-shury_ , something or other.”

“A _plen-ti-pot-ten-shury_!” Nero repeated, beat for beat. He removed his goggles and coughed dryly. “That’s a mouthful. Eh, Garlond?”

“I told you to wear a mask when you use that thing,” replied Cid, not bothering to look up from his book. He had eked out something of a nook within the impressive pile of supplies they had managed to transport into the rift, and his posture within it was suggestive of a comfortably immobile barnacle. “Aren’t you asthmatic?”

“Do you see that?” Nero laughed. “Cid Garlond, pretending to care about my health.”

“From all the smoking you used to do,” Cid returned, flatly.

“Kweh!” added Alpha.

“Not _anymore_ , Alpha. Never mind that—this laddie here wants to know what a _plen-ti-pot-ten-shury_ is,” said Nero. “As you are the more cultivated half of this double act, perhaps you can elucidate him this time.”

Arlen nodded vigorously. “Yes! Chief, do you know what that is?”

“You mean a _plenipotentiary_ ,” said Cid, interest piqued as Arlen approached him with the photograph Yugiri had snapped in secret. It was enough to get him to put down his book, a leatherbound volume with no identifying markings on the spine, save for a small tag: _Property of Bentbranch Public Library_.

“Yes! And his name was Asahi sas Brutus,” Arlen told him. “Is he familiar?”

As Cid studied the photograph, Nero returned to his lathe. Arlen thought for sure Alpha would get a most unceremonious boot—certainly not the enthusiastic scratch to the crown that he got instead.

“Why don’t you try it this time?” Nero was saying to him, quietly. “I am not much of a woodwright, sorry to say.”

“Kweh…”

“But don’t you tell Garlond that, alright…”

“Can’t say I’ve met him,” Cid admitted as he handed back the photo. “He looks quite young for someone in that position, though. Doesn’t he?”

“You mean for a plent-ti—er…”

“Plenipotentiary. Basically a fancy-pants word for ambassador.” Cid smiled. “A diplomat who’s been given the power to act on behalf of his homeland.”

“And the _sas_?” Arlen frowned. He had encountered other _sas_ ’es before, a collection of experiences that had led him to conceive his own adage: You can’t spell _disaster_ without a _sas_.

Cid chewed on his lower lip. “ _Sas_. Well, that’s more complicated. I don’t know how familiar you are with Garlean social hierarchy.”

“I know you were a _nan_ ,” said Arlen. “And Nero’s _tol_.”

“Are you moulting, dear fellow?” The _tol_ in question was still massaging Alpha’s scalp, as the chocobo seemed especially appreciative of the scratching. Judging from the pin feathers, one could easily surmise that the past several days had been itchy ones.

“Kweeeh…”

“Yes, you look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

“Kweh?”

“Your timing is fortunate, however. It just so happens that we are going to need some of your feathers for this brush.”

“Kwe…”

“No? But think of the contribution you shall make for scientific progress!”

“Wark!”

“Yes yes, I’ll be sure to credit you in the journal—”

“—Nero.” Cid burst the other man’s reverie like a dart to a bubble.

He bristled. “What _is_ it, Garlond?”

“What’s _sas_ these days? The title, not the stuff you pour on eft steak.”

“ _Sas_? Highest rank afforded to non-citizens,” replied Nero, searching. “Beyond that, it is bestowed upon executive military officers, that sort of thing. Why?”

Cid nodded. “Does that umbrella cover embassy officials? Diplomats?”

“Kweh?”

“Hmm. Well, there is that high- _larious_ old saw about Garlemald’s unique approach to Diplomacy, which—” Nero stopped himself, having apparently noticed the Look that Cid was giving him from across the floor. “I’ll spare you the high-larious punchline. I, personally, do not recall the designated title for a diplomat. Do understand however that the system is not strictly linear, and that any one person may hold many titles, even concurrently.”

Arlen did not appear any more enlightened than he was at the start of the conversation, a position that did not improve despite his proximity to Cid’s plasma reading lamp. “Were you a _sas_?” he asked.

“Very briefly, via dead man’s boots,” said Nero. “Before that, I was a _jen_ , I was a _lux_ , I was a _mal_ … I was an _eir_ , I was a _goe_ —”

“—a _what_?” Cid twisted his brow in genuine bewilderment. “So you were with the Frumentarii as well? I never knew that.”

“There are a lot of things you never knew about me, Garlond.”

Nero’s smile was wry and his hand stilled, leaving Alpha to squirm and coo impatiently until the scratching resumed.

“Anyway, my point being, he may be a _sas_. Why not? It would be a terribly specific mistake to make, otherwise,” he continued. “Though, if you are not averse to taking some advice from an old scoundrel, I will say that if you believe this Asahi character is trying to deceive you in some way, you would be wiser to focus your attention on something other than semantics. _Isn’t that right, Alpha_?”

“Kweeeh!”

Cid folded his arms, contemplatively. “Like what?”

“Our little friend would have to be the judge of that. I have never met the fellow, and between you and me, I would prefer you not invite a bloody Garlean _penitentiary_ over for lunch, thank you very much. Right!” Nero snapped his goggles back over his eyes. “Let’s finish this.”

“Kweh! Kweh kweh!”

Arlen picked at his collar while picking out patterns in the gently shimmering tile that served as the surface of the Interdimensional Rift. Right where it left off, the turning lathe picked up its gleefully ghastly chorus of creaks and scrunches and now the occasional _wark_ , which was just as well as Arlen had not a single note to contribute.

“Arlen?” Cid’s prompt was gentle, but concerned.

“It’s alright, Chief,” he said, sheepishly. “I don’t know what _semantics_ is, anyway.”


End file.
